She leaned forward, elbows on knees and glass cradled in her hands. “I'm serious, Mitch. I'm caught up on everything else in the house with the exception of the boxes in your room—which I assume are personal—and your office. I would love to have something to keep me busy while the girls are at school.”
“Our newly acquired hairy monster won't be enough?”
“He can keep me company.”
Mitch absently stroked a finger over his bottom lip. “You're really serious about this.”
“Wait,” she said in almost the same instant. “You're really serious about keeping the dog?”
“Was there ever any doubt?” He grimaced.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I should have just left him at the shelter the way you asked.”
“It was a big ask,” he said, waving away her apology. “Especially when you had the girls in the same vehicle with you. I know how united their front can be. Besides, they've been after me to have a pet for years. It was bound to happen eventually. I should have caved on the hamster idea when I had the chance.”
Abby laughed, the sound surprising her. She didn't remember the last time she'd laughed. Smiled, yes, but laughed out loud? It would have been at something Olivia had done or said, no doubt, but she couldn't remember what or when.
“You do that a lot, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Disappear somewhere up here.” Mitch tapped his temple. “Somewhere sad.”
She swallowed. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to—”
“You don't need to apologize, Abby. But you're welcome to talk, if you'd like.”
For a moment, she was tempted. Perhaps if she hadn't already broken down in tears with Gareth, she might have taken Mitch up on his offer. But having her brother-in-law's sympathy had been one thing; it would be quite another to have Mitch's. She took another drink from her glass, managing not to choke this time.
“I'm fine,” she said. “But thank you.”
He regarded her in silence, then shrugged. “Have it your way. So. Just how good are these bookkeeping skills of yours?”
“Adequate, I suppose? I can do accounts payable and receivable, and our—my—” She stopped to gather herself and sipped again. She really had to stop stumbling over the “my husband” thing, or else just tell Mitch that she had once been married. If only she could be sure that information would satisfy his curiosity and not lead to a lot of other questions, followed by tears and that whole comfort thing she couldn't handle. Not when her fingertips still hadn't forgotten the warm strength of his shoulders when he'd lifted her from his office floor the week before. She gripped her glass a little tighter. “The accountant never had any complaints at tax time,” she finished.
“If you take this on, I’ll pay you extra.”
“You're already paying me—”
“Not for office work on top of everything else.”
“But—” She broke off as his jaw flexed stubbornly. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I'll start on Monday while the girls are at school. Speaking of which, I didn't ask you how the meeting went with Madame Sylvie.”
“Apart from having to sit in one of those ridiculously small chairs? I think they give you those on purpose. To put you at a disadvantage.”
Abby took a swig of whisky, trying and failing to picture Mitch in one of the undersized chairs—or at any kind of disadvantage. Also trying and failing to feel her toes anymore. Or her top lip. She was even more of a lightweight than she’d remembered.
“I took copies of the medical records in, like you suggested,” he continued. “She was ticked about not having seen them before, but I've promised to do better. She's suggested that we have an individualized education plan in place for Kiana before she starts Grade one. I have to file a written request with the principal, and she'll submit it to a committee for consideration. We'll likely need an updated psychological assessment for her, but the school doesn't pay for that before Grade three, so I need to see if my extended health plan will cover it.”
“Wow. That's...”
“A lot of work?” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
Abby drained her glass. The last of the liquid fire slid down into her belly, joining the pleasant warmth already there, and then prompted her to say, “You're doing it again, you know.”
“Doing what?”
Abby blinked at her unexpected bravado. Then she shrugged and answered, “Feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mitch scowled at her.
“It's because you're overwhelmed,” she said, nodding at the wisdom of her own words, even as a part of her whispered an alarm. Too much whisky, it told her. Too much, too fast.
Too late, the buzz responded, edging her forward so she could pat Mitch's knee, then encouraging her hand to linger there.
“Whenever you look at the big picture, you panic,” she informed Mitch and shook her head. “Big picture bad.”
Mitch's scowl faded, replaced by a raised eyebrow and a glimmer of amusement. “Big picture bad?”
“Very bad. It's like trying to move a mountain.”
“A picture is like moving a mountain?”
“Yes. No. Looking at a picture is like moving a—” She stopped and frowned. That wasn't right, was it? She squeezed Mitch's knee. “My point is—” Wait, that wasn't his knee, it was his thigh. And holy wow, how in heck had she moved from sitting on the loveseat to sitting on the coffee table in front of him? She drew back from the sudden scorch against her palm.
“I think we might want to continue this conversation tomorrow,” Mitch said.
How interesting, Abby's buzz said. His voice is all rough and gruff again, the way it gets when he's—
Nope. Not interesting, her whisper disagreed. Nothing to see here, Abigail. Move along!
But—
“And that means we should end it now,” Mitch added, standing up from his chair. He plucked her empty glass from her and held it with the other in one hand, then reached down to help her to her feet.
Dear Lord, woman, you're swaying!
Mitch's free hand clamped onto her shoulder. “You okay?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but then her gaze settled on his mouth. His lips were so full. Way fuller than William's had been. Her buzz wondered how it would feel to—
“Bedtime.”
She blinked. Even her buzz was surprised by that. “Wow. That's a little fast, don't you think?”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant.” His hand still clamped on her shoulder, he towed her out of the living room and to the foot of the stairs, where he released his hold and pointed upward. “Next time you tell me what a lightweight you are?”
“Mm?”
“I'll believe you. Good night, Abigail Jamieson.”
She never would have done it without the whisky in her system. Heck, she wouldn't have thought it possible with the whisky, and she was a thousand percent certain she would regret it, but as Mitch turned to leave, she caught hold of his t-shirt front, stretched up on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his. Then she turned tail and ran.
Chapter 34
Abby woke to silence on Saturday morning. That alone wasn't unusual, but accompanied by bright sunshine rather than the pale light of dawn? That was definite cause for worry. She scrambled out from the tangled duvet and reached for the cell phone face down on the nightstand. She blinked at the time it displayed. It was 9:30? Really? She'd slept in again? That was twice in less than a month. Mitch would think—
Mitch.
Abby put her hands up to molten cheeks.
She'd kissed Mitch.
Stood on tiptoe, reached up, and pressed her mouth to his, and—
Warm. His lips had been warm, and soft and firm at the same time, and he'd smelled of citrus and mint, and—
Abby flopped onto her back, pulling the duvet over her head.
It had been the whisky. It had to have been the whisky. She hadn't had a drop of alcohol in
more than six months, not since single-handedly emptying William's well-stocked, climate-controlled wine cellar, and she'd been too wound up to eat more than a bite or two at dinner, and...
And she'd kissed her boss.
And now she had to go downstairs and face him. And his children. And her conscience, because, dear Lord, what kind of woman threw herself at another man—at her boss—less than a year after her husband and daughter died?
The duvet became suffocating. Abby pushed it away and gasped for air. The house stayed silent. She frowned. Then she sighed and swung her feet out of bed. As awful as facing Mitch would be, she couldn't very well remain in her room all day. She had kids to feed, and laundry to do, and a dog to walk, and—why in heaven's name was it so quiet around here? Had everyone slept in?
She tugged on a cardigan over the t-shirt she wore as a pajama top, then padded across the cool hardwood to the door and pulled it open. She listened. Nothing. No kids' chatter, no deep Mitch's voice, no—
“Oof!”
Abby frowned. “Dog?” she called.
“Oof!”
She pulled the cardigan closer and headed down the stairs. The main floor was as deserted as the second level, with the exception of the snuffling sound coming from the base of the laundry room door. Abby turned the knob and pushed. A very enthusiastic something on the other side pushed back.
“You have to move, you silly creature,” she told him.
“Oof! Oof!”
“Seriously.” She shoved harder. “Back!”
The door gave way with a suddenness that sent her stumbling into the room to land on the floor beside the dog, who whuffled happily in her ear and licked the back of her neck, then lay down beside her, brown eyes joyous behind their fringe. Abby stared into them. Intelligence stared back. Slowly she pushed to her knees, then to her feet.
“Sit,” she said.
The dog's front end bounded up; its rear stayed glued to the floor.
“Well, I'll be,” she murmured. “Down.”
The dog dropped back down.
“Um... stand?”
He did.
And his blanket was intact, too. Maybe the girls had been right about him just needing a chance to settle in. Or maybe he’d just taken out his fury on it at Mitch’s armed attempt to come into the room that night.
“Huh,” she told him. “Keep this up, and you might even win over the guy you need to impress.”
Speaking of whom, where was he? And where in the world were the girls? All their coats were missing, as were their boots. At least, she hoped the items were missing and not ingested. She looked at the dog. “You wouldn't, would you?”
The animal grinned up at her, and for the second time in the space of a few hours, she laughed out loud. It felt easier this time, and not quite so foreign. With Dog trailing her, she headed for the kitchen, remembering how, once upon a time, she had laughed often and easily. It would have made Olivia sad to know she'd stopped.
Dog trotted to the sliding glass doors and regarded her expectantly over one shoulder. Someone, Abby thought as she walked over to join him, had spent a great deal of time and effort in training this animal—which did not bode well for the burgeoning hope among certain household members that they might be able to keep him.
“Guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we, buddy?” She pulled open the door and shivered in the draft as the dog bounded out into the snow.
She found the note Mitch had left taped to the coffee machine, smiling as she pulled it free because she couldn't think of a better place to leave something that needed to be seen by an adult in the morning. She unfolded the paper marked with her name and read: Took the day off to get the tree with the girls. Back after lunch. Girls have a favor to ask of you.
Abby skipped past the 'favor' part and frowned at the strong pen strokes in the word 'tree'. What tree? Why would anyone need a tree in the middle of win—
Her stomach dropped to the floor like a stone, taking her heart with it. Oh, hell. Of course. Christmas. Her second without her family—not that she remembered much about the first beyond a blur of neighbors knocking at her door with casseroles and baked goods that she'd thrown out because she hadn't been able to eat. Hadn't been able to swallow. Had felt much like she did again right now.
Abby sank to the floor along with her vital organs and buried her face against drawn-up knees. She'd been so busy keeping busy, so focused on putting one foot in front of the other day after day, that she'd forgotten Christmas was closing in on her again. Forgotten she would be a part of a family over the holiday. A family that would expect her to participate in... whatever nannies were supposed to participate in.
Such as baking cookies, wrapping presents, listening to carols...
Decorating a tree.
Her lungs folded in on themselves and refused to inflate again. Panic stirred at the base of her throat. Then she heard the soothing murmur of Mitch's voice in her ear, “Give it a minute, and your diaphragm will relax again. Just keep trying...”
Having a thought knock the wind out of her wasn't quite the same as landing face first on the floor, but she latched onto the memory anyway and schooled herself to calmness. Slowly, the spasm at her core relaxed. She drew a shallow, careful breath, then a deeper one. The pain didn't return.
She had no doubt it would again, but for now—for as long as she could keep the memories at arms' length—she was safe. And—
“Oof!”
And the dog needed to come in again.
Note still clutched in one hand, Abby heaved herself to her feet and padded back to open the door. The black dog bounded inside and skidded on the floor, sending a chair crashing into the table. “Easy,” Abby cautioned. “You'll have a better chance of staying if you don't knock the house apart.”
She glanced again at the note. Back after lunch? How long could it take to drive to a tree lot and choose a tree? William and Olivia had always accomplished the task in record ti—
Damn.
Taking a deep breath, she dropped the paper on the table. “Come on, Dog. Let's go get dressed and find something constructive to do before I decide to hide in a closet for the next month, shall we?”
Eventually, after getting dressed, pouring coffee, and poking unsuccessfully through the cupboards for food that appealed, she and Dog—the poor beast really needed a name soon, she thought, even if it was going to be temporary—ended up in Mitch's office. Together, they surveyed the disaster within.
“Wow,” she said. “He wasn't kidding about falling behind, was he?”
She'd been in here before, of course. Twice. Both times, she'd been too preoccupied by other activities to pay much attention to her surroundings—first, when she'd tripped over the pile of blueprints and face-planted on the floor, and Mitch had picked her up; and then again, when Dog had tried to wreck the same blueprints.
“How about we deal with those first, to make sure they're out of our way?” Abby asked Dog. She set her coffee—which she’d poured into a sealed travel mug, just to be on the safe side—on the desk and scooped up the rolls, placing them beside the mug. Then, with Dog gnawing contentedly on a rawhide bone, she began sorting. And sorting. And sorting. By the time the garage door opened, throwing her into a state of paralysis at the thought of seeing Mitch again, she had funneled the bulk of the chaos into four tidy piles: receipts to be filed, a lot of things to ask Mitch about, junk to be recycled, and everything family to be put into the empty binder she’d found that had triggered an idea for a household how-to manual.
Dog tilted his head to one side, staring into the hallway as the garage door closed again. Then the connecting door to the laundry room opened and happy chatter spilled into the house. They were back. Christmas had arrived, and so had Mitch. Dog lurched to his feet with a happy “Oof!” and trotted out of the office to greet everyone, leaving Abby standing frozen by the filing cabinet, a sheaf of papers in one hand and her now cold-coffee in the other. She hadn't yet convinced her feet
to move when Mitch found her a couple of minutes later.
“You're back,” she said. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to hide behind closed eyelids. She forced a smile and tried again, “Did you have fun?”
“We did. Thank you.” Mitch's gaze held hers for a second, and then, blessedly, left to travel the room. Hers, however, contrarily fastened on the lips she'd kissed last night.
“You've been busy.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I said, you've been busy.”
“Oh. Yes.” She looked away, her face fiery. “Yes,” she said again. “But just sorting so far.” She waved the papers in her hand, regretting the movement when his green glance returned to her. She pointed the travel mug at the stacks of paper on the bookshelves lining the wall. “I made piles,” she said. “Four of them. Of papers.”
The corner of Mitch's mouth twitched, and he slid his hands into his front pockets. “I can see that.”
Abby's face flamed even hotter. She lowered mug and papers to her sides. Dear Lord, could she please string together just one complete sentence? Such as the most important one she needed to get out of the way?
“Mitch, about last night—”
“Daddy, did you ask her?” Kiana danced into the room, hands flapping as she bounced in circles. “Did she say yes?”
“I—” Mitch began.
“Will you, Abby?” Britt darted in after her little sister. “Please?”
Torn between being glad of the interruption and wishing she'd had a chance to get her apology over with, Abby forced a smile. “Will I what?”
“Help us decorate the tree tomorrow!” Kiana bounced some more, then stopped as Dog nudged her. She curled her fingers into the animal's wavy, rough coat.
Huh, the coherent, practical Abby thought, watching the interaction. Would you look at that.
And oh, dear Lord, I can't, screamed the panicked one, focused on the tree idea.
Two pairs of expectant eyes watched her, joined by a third when their sister walked in.
“Don't you like Christmas?” Rachel asked. “It was our mom's favorite holiday. It's hard without her, but Daddy says we need to keep her traditions going.”
Abigail Always Page 17